Mr. Walker

   About

---

   Mr. Walker is a man who keeps firmly to himself. Fashionably plain, elegantly understated; well put-together but ultimately forgotten is his ideal balance. He's got plenty of reason to want that, in fairness--when you have reality-bending abilities at your disposal, there's no shortage of people who would like to have you under their thumb or under 6 feet of dirt.

   Thankfully, he's got a special power under his sleeve: the ability to replace another person with himself, like a role recast with a new actor. It's a precarious position requiring him to get every detail right, but if successful .... Well. When done right, you'd never know it happened. In fact, you wouldn't even know that Mr. Walker isn't his real name, or that his lonely penthouse isn't really his ....


History

---

   Mr. Walker started life as Ingram Palmer, an average elf with no pride in his magical inclination. Like all of his kind he possessed an innate power, with a natural aptitude for a certain type of spell; unfortunately for him he specialized in transmutation, the ability to convert one object to another, with a particular talent for altering text. It was a terrible mark on his record, always calling into question whether the money in his hands was real or the homework he turned in his own. It cast a long shadow over his credit score and willing references. It barred him from a wide range of jobs where he might be suspected of cooking the books or altering documents. The power felt more like a curse, tailing him ever closer as he grew up.

   The closest he'd find to happiness was work as a teacher. Sharing geography and history with a gaggle of middle schoolers brought him a much-needed satisfaction; none of their little faces showed the mistrust he'd been accustomed to, and they took his words as truth. It was nice, he realized, to be believed. But outside of the classroom in the world of adults the same problems plagued him, and as the depression seeped into his core, the idea of a way out became ever more appealing.

   That way out wouldn't be what he expected. One summer break, a friend had forwarded an ad in the paper being run by the Bureau of Magic Controls (BMC), the very organization that ran the Spellcaster's Registry and had branded Ingram's documents to begin with. They were looking for those with natural aptitude in unusual magics--transmutation being among them--and spoke vaguely of some federal research that would put such abilities to use. Curious, and with no shortage of free time in the summer months, Ingram applied. The next thing he knew he was being shuttled off in a gleaming black car, filling out paperwork on the way and wondering if he'd packed enough socks in the hurry.

   He doesn't remember much of the research done there. Early memories consisted of being asked to change simple objects while hooked up to a machine, something he was rusty at from avoiding his powers but quickly fell back into. Resistance tests, physicals and brain scans, a battery of medical inquiries--and then it seemed to go over the edge. He was being pushed to work his powers harder and harder, struggling to try and transmute whole rooms, to alter moving cars and even an animal (which failed hideously). It placed a great strain on him, but the BMC's kindness was short lived as they continued to drive him along, until he was practically delirious from energy exhaustion. When the motivation ran out, pain was introduced. And when he was too exhausted to even respond to that, they took him to the furthest room.

   If he were lucid, he might have wondered if the BMC was fully aware of what was happening in their labs. Did they care? Did they have a plan to explain where people like Ingram had gone? Did they simply not know what their own teams were trying to create? But as things were, Ingram didn't realize what was happening to him until it was too late. The ligature was thick and coarse, but he was permitted to struggle, mustering the last of his body's strength to fight off his attacker. All he really remembered from those moments was the distinct blue latex gloves of a professional, someone doing this with intention. That blue was closely followed by a darkness he wouldn't wake up from for several days.

   As it turns out, it's a somewhat known fact that a death experience can activate the full potential of an individual elf's powers. It's rare, of course; some theorize that the power itself must be appropriate for rescuing the body from death, while others simply believe a surge of power is all that's needed to set off the reaction. Regardless, the magical instinct to bring oneself back from the brink is a powerful one, and every year some foolish individuals would attempt the fabled procedure only to leave behind a stunted legacy. But, not Ingram. He'd wake a few weeks later, dazed and confused in someone else's apartment with a hastily-healed scar around his neck and no memories of the past days.

   Had he escaped somehow, or been released? He couldn't say. But as he began to get his bearings straight, he discovered his once-simple transmutation powers had evolved into something that frightened him. It was as if he could tweak reality itself, anything from the colour of a passing car to the layout of an apartment building, all without having to so much as lift a finger. It would happen suddenly, without flair or ceremony, to anything he could observe. Experimentation showed him new things, such as his ability to alter distances, pulling two locations just close enough to step between before reverting them back in an instant. It wasn't a limitless power; big changes made him weary, and if he wasn't careful to understand exactly what he was changing with a detailed picture in mind, it was likely to go awry. But, it was incredibly liberating. And as the BMC began to pick up on his trail, he made the snap decision to flee, honing his abilities to slip away into just about anywhere.

   It would take a lot of careful study to figure out his most advanced skill. At first it hadn't occurred to him, but after exploring the unknown apartment he'd awoken in, he'd realized it belonged to a BMC staff member, one who had worked with him back at the lab. For all intents and purposes, this person seemed to be gone. It sparked an idea, or perhaps a question .... that would be answered the first time Ingram tried altering a presence, overlaying himself onto another's life and walking about with their name and reputation assigned to his own face. As he'd learn through trial and error, it was a performance, requiring him to have a detailed understanding of the victim's life to sell himself to the people who knew them. If he was noticed, he'd be kicked from his role, leaving himself next to a very confused victim; but with practice came perfect, and it quickly became his greatest tool in fleeing the BMC's relentless hounding, letting him disappear as thoroughly as possible.

   Eventually, tired of skipping from one short-term life to the next, he picked out the ultimate victim: one Mr. Walker, a gruff, isolated man who lived a privately wealthy life in his penthouse. Once he'd taken the role, it would be easy to whittle away at Walker's few remaining contacts, cutting off anyone who'd care enough to check in with the man until there was no one left to question him. From there it was a breeze to simply live off of the man's savings in secret for a while as he got the lay of the city, figuring out how to support himself. He'd finally find work that didn't ask questions in the form of a fixer, using his newly clean-cut look to imply power in government to those who have money and something to hide. He'd make promises of pulling strings, when in reality he was staking out a low-key target of similar build to mask himself as and enter the building unnoticed, staying just long enough to alter documents or make things disappear before taking his leave.

   Is he proud of the work? No. Does he love his secret life at the top of a lonely tower? Not really. But at this point, he's in it far too deep to get out without a catch, isn't he?


Notes

---

• keeps a pocket watch because of course he does. a bit obsessed with keeping time, especially when staking out a victim's routine.
• didn't need glasses until after his power awakening, for some reason.
• has had other run-ins with the BMC, sometimes very close calls that have given him more blackouts and mysterious scars .... it's fine. really. it is.
• extremely picky about his clothes.
• keeps a very specifically arranged selection of memorable furniture in his main room, with everything nailed or glued into place. this way he can keep a detailed memory of the room, and "teleport" in when nearby.
• eats like a horse and then some. it's to make up for the high energy cost of his powers.
• yes he has werthers in his pockets. yes you may have one.
• strongly prefers to flee over fight, but if you do try to corner him, be prepared for some really nasty things to happen to you.